


Home is where the heart is

by yourfriendlyneighbourhoodme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 09:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11460957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourfriendlyneighbourhoodme/pseuds/yourfriendlyneighbourhoodme
Summary: Since the Battle of Hogwarts, life hasn't been easy for anyone, especially Harry Potter. But there'll always be someone to pick you back up, and dust you off, and set you back on your feet again. It could take a while, but eventually, Harry will be okay.





	Home is where the heart is

Ginny frowns as she stares out the window into the rainy darkness surrounding the Burrow. She’s sitting at her favourite window seat, a worn out copy of Swallowdale in her hand. She had been re-reading this book for the fifth time when she’d spotted the movement in the long bulrushes. 

She sits up slightly, and presses her nose against the cold glass in an attempt to see better. It doesn't work though, as her breath merely fogs up the glass, obscuring her vision further. She smiles at her mistake, and squints into the darkness one last time, Seeker’s eyes narrowing.

Ginny sees nothing, although that doesn't surprise her. It was probably just a trick of the light anyway. She shivers, and realises how cold it has gotten. The cool November air is leaking through the badly sealed windows, and she frowns. She needs to get her dad to fix it before December comes. Otherwise it won’t just be a white Christmas, it will be a frozen one.

She stands up, and leaves the book on the seat, reminding her to come back later. 

The seat has been her favourite place to go since the Battle of Hogwarts, because it is the only place with no reminder of Harry. 

In the kitchen, she remembers countless dinners, in the garden de-gnomeing, and even her bedroom is tainted memories with of Harry’s seventeenth. She sees him everywhere, strolling around, grinning at her, his hair falling over his bright green eyes. 

She isn't quite sure why she feels such an aversion to her memories, but she does. Maybe it is an all too painful reminder of the happy relationship that seemed to last mere seconds before the war ripped it away. Maybe it is a reminder of the world that all of them lost. These memories, she views through rose-tinted spectacles, so that she’s not sure what is real and what is merely a figment of her imagination. Were Harry’s eyes really that green? Did she really laugh that perfect laugh, like the ringing of bells? She doubts the latter, although all those images of green line up so perfectly she can’t help but think it true. Everything was so, so perfect between them.

But, she remembers, if things were so perfect, why would Harry break up with her? Did she do something wrong? 

Pull yourself together, Weasley! She tells herself firmly, frowning at herself. Harry broke up with you for your safety.

She’s convinced of this until a second voice in her head pipes up.

But the danger has passed. If it was because you were in danger, wouldn't you have got back together by now?

[][][]

Harry swears softly to himself when Ginny sits up. He knows he was coming too close the the house, that someone was going to spot him, but he was hoping the darkness of the November night would cover him.

But apparently not. 

Well, he thinks,Ginny wasn’t a good Seeker for nothing. 

He sighs, and shoves his hands in his pockets. He should really stop doing this. Molly said he was welcome anytime he liked, but really if he visited all the times he’s wanted to, he’d be practically moving in. And as nice as the Weasley family are, he couldn't do that. Then they’d get sick of him and he’d be booted out as quickly as he came.

It’s a mixture of a few things that draws him to the Burrow, he supposes. He loves the family unit, and the house, and his best friends. These make him feel safe, and secure. All those people, working together, even if it’s a little mismatched sometimes.

But they don’t quite stop the loneliness he seems to feel constantly since what happened at Hogwarts. Hogwarts, which had always been his greatest source of protection, the place he called his home.

Now he’s not quite sure where home is. 

Could it be he is missing the part of him killed by Voldemort? The piece of Voldemort’s soul that was part of him? No, it can’t be. Why would he miss it; it was his darkest side and sometimes, he hated it.

So it’s not that then.

But that really only leaves one other option, the last thing about the Burrow that keeps him coming back, the one thing that makes the loneliness vanish, the thing that makes his spirit soar as though he’s on a broomstick.

He turns around, turning away, his shoulders hunched, and prepares Apparate back to Grimmauld Place to fall back into his seemingly eternal self-pity. 

Harry steals one glance over his shoulder to try and catch one last glimpse of his anchor to sanity, but she has gone.

[][][]

Harry appears in the kitchen with a crack. Like always, it is quiet. Although, its not just quiet, it’s silent, the kind of silence that fills every corner of a room and freezes your blood in your veins. The room is empty except a big pile of empty dishes and discarded clothes. He doesn't dare to venture into one of the rooms upstairs; too many memories of Sirius and the Order. Instead he sleeps at a chair by the fire, tossing and turning way into the early hours of the morning.

Not that the kitchen is any less horrible to be in.

Every day, he sees Tonks changing her appearance for Hermione and… somebody else, and Remus and Sirius chatting merrily about their school days, still catching up after those year apart. Mrs Weasley is scolding Fred and George for using magic whilst cooking a feast, and even Snape is sitting in the corner, his lip curling as he watches the scene. It is Snape that sends Harry’s skin crawling, Snape that makes him cold and afraid.

Harry steps into the memory and walks over; sits next to his old teacher. Snape turns his head slowly to face Harry, and Harry smiles sadly when Snape gives him the look of hatred he only ever gave him and his father, James. Icy, disdainful, detached. 

“Yes?” Snape asks coldly, and Harry’s ears ring with the sound, sending him back to hours in dark dungeons.

“What’s happening to me?” He asks shakily, unable to hold the question in any longer, and Snape grins maliciously.

“Why don’t you ask your godfather?” He replies nastily, sending a blow to the boy. Harry shrinks backwards, and feels the fear and dread of Snape he always felt, always still feels despite his death. He thought it had stopped, since he learnt what he had, and Snape had died, but he realises that there are some fears which simply won't go away. Snape will remain one of his unconquerable fears.

Harry shakes his head, releasing himself from the vision. There’s no Weasleys, no Remus, no Tonks, no Kingsley. No Snape. They’re all gone.

There’s just Harry and the other things that have been abandoned. 

Ron and Hermione haven't come to see him once since he moved in to his godfather’s old house. He heard them talking, he knows they want to ‘give him space’, but nobody ever seemed to consider whether he wanted space or not. They just assumed that he did, and were wrong.

Anyway, Harry thinks, over and over again, after everything, why would he want to be alone? Being alone means you have lots of time to think about things you should have done, and things that scare you, worry you, until you’re in an endless spiral of crying and screaming. Harry knows because he’s been spinning round and round, from one emotion to the next, from what feels like years. It’s like a moment of a film stuck on repeat. He can’t look himself in the mirror without breaking down at his broken, gaunt appearance.

If anybody was here, they’d notice. They’d notice he’s falling apart, ripping at the seams. They’d notice he’s more miserable than he’s ever been, and that all he wants is for someone to be there. The only people who seem to have any interest talking to him are nosy Prophet reporters, who he has quite firmly told to go do something anatomically unlikely. 

Even the news that he was really rude to the reporters didn't make anyone think ‘hey, that isn't like Harry, maybe we should check on him!’. Nobody came, nobody does. They just give him space.

And the space hurts.

[][][]

Ginny taps her knee impatiently as she stares out the window, waiting for the shadow to move again. It’s been two weeks since she first saw it, but she has been seeing it on numerous occasions since then. The last time she spotted the shadow was ten minutes ago, and she’s had her face pressed to the glass ever since. Keeping watch. 

She hasn’t seen it again. 

Not that she should address it as it, because she’s pretty sure she knows who it is.

Ginny wishes that Harry would just come and talk to her, because it’s perfectly obvious to anyone who knows him that he’s not okay. Hermione is equally worried, and even though he tries not to show it, Ron is too. But Bill told them to leave him be, and everyone was to uneasy to try and disagree with him. They’re all finding it tough managing lately, and they don’t want to overstep anyone’s boundaries as they all come to terms with the current world. 

“Damn you, Potter.” She whispers to herself as she scans the field, her results turning up nada yet again. 

“That’s a tad harsh, don’t you think, Weasley?” A soft voice says behind her, and she spins around, frowning when she sees nothing but the stair case. 

“Harry?” She murmurs, wondering if he’s actually there or whether her imagination is running away from her again. 

She feels a weight on the bench next to her, and a rustling of fabric, a simple sound like that making her sag with relief. He’s here. Of course. The invisibility cloak. 

“Harry, you can show yourself, you know. You don’t have to be a stranger here.” You don’t have to be a stranger to me. 

She hears a derisive snort, which takes her back to hours spent in quiet corners of the Hogwarts grounds. 

“I certainly feel like it.” He says, and her heart plummets. Hermione was right. 

“Harry, you’re always welcome here.” She says, reaching out with a hand. Her fingers grasp fabric at head height, and she tugs. 

The cloak falls off of Harry, revealing his tired, hollow face. Ginny gasps, and throws her arms around his neck before she can stop herself. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t visit.” This apology cannot even begin to cover the waves of guilt hitting her shaking heart. 

“It’s okay, Gin.” He whispers into her hair, and she pulls back, angry tears filling her eyes. 

“No, it’s not. It was ridiculous to believe that someone could go through something like that and not need our help.” She tells him, and sees his own heart breaking behind the green(which is just as striking as she remembers). 

“You lost a brother.” Harry replies, shrugging off her sympathy, which only angers her further.

“You lost him too, as well as so many others.” She reminds him. 

Remus. Tonks. Fred. Colin. Those names ring in both of their ears.

Harry turns away bitterly, and Ginny grabs his chin, forcing him to look at her. His own eyes well with tears, but Ginny steels her nerves. She can’t break now. “It’s okay that you’re upset. But what you can’t do is de-validate your pain because you think someone else has it worse, or not seek for help because you think that we’ve got enough on our plates. We care about you, Harry, like it or not, and part of that is taking your problems as well as ours.”

When she finishes, Ginny realises that she’s shaking with emotion, weeks of bottled up worry and anger. “You may be broken now, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t be fixed.” She tells him slowly, and this time it’s Harry who throws his arms around her. 

She closes her eyes as the Boy Who Lived sobs into her shoulder, trying to suppress her own tears, hugging him tightly. Hugging him with every ounce of love she has.

[][][]

“Wait here.” She tells him softly, after hours, leaving him on the bench to go down to her parents. 

Molly looks up from where she’s chopping vegetables when she sees Ginny’s face. Ginny glances at herself in the mirror, and sees with a start that she looks exactly as crap as she feels. 

She wipes her swollen eyes, and lets out a small chuckle, causing her parents to exchange a worried look.

“Could you set out another place for dinner?” She asks, and Arthur nods. 

“Who’s coming, hun?” He asks, opening the cutlery drawer as he speaks. 

“Harry.” Ginny says softly, and Molly smiles. 

“When’s he arriving? I’ve missed having that boy around.” She bends down to get plates out the cupboard, but jumps up again when she hears a voice come from behind Ginny. 

“I’m already here, Molly.” Ginny turns to look at Harry, and her heart breaks a little more. His cheeks are hollow in the kitchen’s warm light, his eyes tired, his posture hunched and defensive.

Molly doesn’t let Harry’s appearance faze her. She bustles towards him, and pokes him in the stomach. A warm smile lights up her face, but doesn’t quite fill her eyes.

“Harry, dear!” She greets him. “You’ve been getting thin, good thing you’ve come, we need to feed you up a bit.” She pulls him into a bone crushing hug, wrapping her arms around him easily, too easily, which Harry returns, and leads him to the table. 

Harry sits gingerly down in a chair, in front of which Arthur has placed a steaming mug of tea, conjured out of thin air and smelling sweetly of peppermint. 

Molly begins to chat to him all about Fleur’s problem with the floods at Shell Cottage, and makes him laugh slightly over Ron’s terrible attempts to be romantic with Hermione. They focus on anything except the elephant in the room, saving that for another time. Tomorrow perhaps, after he’s well rested. 

As dinner draws closer, more and more Weasleys gradually enter the kitchen, looking between Ginny and Harry worriedly as they spot the dark haired wizard sitting at the table. Still, they don’t say anything, just talk to him gently, following their parents lead. Percy especially takes particular care when asking Harry if he saw the results of the recent Holyhead Harpies game. 

Ginny feels a sudden rush of love for her family watching this as she helps her mum set out all the plates, heart warming when Harry gives her a shy smile as she gives him his. 

When George walks in, he makes a beeline for Harry, plonking himself down next to him. He is silent for a few seconds. The two men stare at each other, before George pats Harry on the shoulder. 

“Harry James Potter.” He states matter of factly, his words echoing with the surprise to see him. Harry frowns. “Why haven’t you been visiting?” George challenges him, a crease in between his eyes showing mild annoyance.

Ginny feels a small knife of anger towards her brother for confronting Harry like that, but it vanishes the second she sees the tiniest of smiles paint Harry’s features. She reminds herself that Harry’s nerves are made of titanium.

Harry shrugs, causing George to poke him. “Hey?” George says, just before Molly ladles a large helping of dinner onto Harry’s plate, distracting him from the remaining twin. 

Looking at Harry looking at the food, Ginny has to stop herself asking him how long it’s been since he had a proper meal. From the sight of his ribs poking through his smudged t-shirt, she’d say it’s been a while. 

She eats her own dinner in small bites, always watching Harry out of the corner of her eyes, thanking her mother silently as every time Harry’s plate is empty, Molly fills it up again, so that the boy eats more than most of the table put together. No one says anything, perhaps too scared of Ginny or terrified like she is for Harry’s health to do so. She catches Percy sneaking extra mashed potato onto Harry’s plate when he’s not looking.

After dinner, he sits quietly in his seat whilst the other Weasleys chatter noisily, despite many attempts to bring him into the conversation. He seems happy to simply watch them interact, a soft glint in his eyes that grows during the evening, reducing the lines in his face and lifting the corners of his mouth. 

He looks over at Ginny, and his heart swells, finally feeling at home. Because, of course, home is where his heart is, and his heart is here with her.


End file.
